by B K Brain
She pressed pause. The image froze on a close-up of Jacobson’s face.
Eddie had a hard time wrapping her brain around the experiment, but she couldn’t help thinking it sounded an awful lot like what happened to her and David in the tornado. Their particles were split when they entered, mixed, and then split again when they left. It was the only explanation that made any kind of sense.
That’s why I’ve been seeing him.
It still didn’t explain the clipboard or the office chair, (or the dog, for that matter) but it did explain him.
Holy shit.
She and David Sandoval had been thrown together and ripped apart like a pair of entangled photons.
But she’d seen him before the storm, hadn’t she? Yes. In Thatcher’s pictures, and at the bar. Those things happened before they got mixed up in the tornado.
So, what the fuck?
What was that quote by Einstein? Time is but a stubbornly persistent illusion? Something like that. In physics, there is no distinction between past, present and future.
All time, all at once.
What if the event had been so devastating, so monumental, that the consequences expanded outward in all directions? Could it be possible?
Could such a thing hit like an explosion on the timeline of her life?
8
Light and shadow, taste and aroma.
Sound.
Pleasure.
Pain.
The senses that connect us to this world, ground us in time and place. The bonds that make us real.
Or do they?
Without sensation binding Sam to reality, what, pray tell, was he now? What remained to define him?
Emotion. Desire. Purpose. The sum of his intent.
Yes. But there was something more.
Without anchor a ship is free to drift. The unbound man rolls along similar blackened tides, does he not? Yes, unless he finds sail.
His were stitched with magic particles. They gave him direction. Now they’d provide a truss, an attachment.
Sam had found new meaning. There had to be something beyond intent. Something illusive, fundamental. What he sought was the spark that defines consciousness, the key ingredient. What it truly means to be. The answer was in that strange halo of blue light. He was sure of it.
When he had that he’d have everything.
But first things first.
He peered out from the inside place, the nothing place, and saw a massive room a hundred feet square. Dead halogens lined the far wall in three muted rows. Forty feet above, a darkened ceiling crisscrossed with exposed I beams. The floor, slick concrete.
Not far from the stairwell doorway, a small, unassuming surface - the place where it all began. No bigger than a fold-out card table. Scratched top, scarred wooden legs. A chunk of cardboard had been wedged under one of them to keep the whole thing from teetering like a playground seesaw. He’d found it in one of the conference rooms.
Such humble beginnings.
Two cameras on tripods and a central spotlight still aimed downward, to where a baseball appeared from nowhere.
His five guests slept peacefully not far away, four sitting side-by-side on cots and leaning back against the wall, one on the floor. Each would prove useful, in their own way. Some more dramatic than others, he supposed.
I’ll save you for last, Dave. Why? It did seem like the polite thing to do, but there was another reason wasn’t there? He wanted to…impress him? Prove something to him? Perhaps…
Now, Sam thought, how to get back.
9
A yawn overtook David in a great, gaping chasm. How much sleep had he gotten? Nowhere near enough.
He felt for the pistol, gripped it tight, looked to the table. All that remained now was the waiting. In the world’s strangest waiting room, for the world’s worst doctor.
Just like my last colonoscopy.
He rubbed eyes, checked his watch. Five o’clock.
Nine hours left, at the most.
Cathleen lay to his right, still asleep. Doug and Susan too - him snoring, her stretched out across his lap. Steve, haven finally surrendered for the night, hugged a wadded up jacket on the floor ten feet away, unconscious and drooling.
Two rulers, a tire iron, and a hockey stick. Four down, one to go.
Where are you, you bastard?
David pushed his way out of the cot. The beast in his skull was taking a break but his back had lost none of its enthusiasm.
Cathleen reached for a pillow, wiped her nose, straightened her legs. She sighed. He hoped she was having good dreams, of things far away from this nightmare. She deserved a reprieve. They all did.
With pistol in hand, he walked to the stairs. Up he went, the sciatic grumbling at each step. He paused at the summit, listening.
A droning vibration hung on the air, coming from up ahead. It sounded like computer fans? That couldn’t be. Cathleen had them all unplugged, all except the big machine. The quantum computer didn’t make noise like that, did it?
He eased forward to investigate.
The ivory storm spiraled in the open threshold, just like yesterday, denying access to the control room. Beyond that, the ongoing hum. Had he heard it before? Hard to say. He’d been too distracted trying not to get sucked into Sam’s unbelievable trap.
But it was there now. Were the simulation computers back on? How?
And for God’s sake, why?
A scream echoed up the stairwell. Cathleen.
David raced down the steps. He stopped at the door, gulping for air like a drowning man. A frenetic heartbeat shook his entire body.
He aimed into stagnant silence. When the moment came would he be able to pull the trigger? Where are you, asshole?
At the table, standing with arms crossed. A man, grinning. The others, fully awake and on their feet, backing away from him. The doctor had returned as expected, although hours early. His presence brought the local population up to six.
Not for long.
David’s finger hovered at the trigger. Cold sweat trickled past an ear and down his neck. Shoot him. David pinched eyes shut, looked again. The damn pistol quaked in his hands. He could barely hang on. Put him down right now. Easier said than done.
“Hello, my friend,” Sam said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“If you move, I’ll kill you.”
Sam chuckled under his breath. “Very convincing, Dave. I’m sorry to inform you that’s not possible.”
“Bullshit.”
The doctor held arms wide and stepped closer. Narrowed his eyes to slits, blood lined open wounds. “Then please,” he said. “Prove me wrong.”
“I’ll do it. I swear-”
Sam took another step. Then another. “Don’t swear, David. Just do it.”
Closer. Only a foot away - even a blind man could make the shot. If he had courage enough to pull the trigger, that is.
“Don’t make me…”
“Would you like to know why you can’t shoot me, Dave? Because you’ve never actually done anything. You have none of your own accomplishments. Zero. Zip. Nada. You’re just a guy who points cameras at people who do things. Without your stupid little show, you’re worthless.” Sam started to turn away, then reconsidered. “If you can’t kill me, maybe you should kill yourself.”
Steve yelled, “Shoot him!”
David glanced to the others, to Cathleen. She wanted him to, they all did. He aimed. Hesitated. A human life, even a murderer’s - What was it worth?
Killing him now would save their lives, wouldn’t it? Could it be considered self-defense when everyone, even the killer, was telling him to do it?
None of it mattered because the whole thing was a trick, had to be. Sam wouldn’t just give himself up to die. This was nothing more than him showing off, trying to prove some twisted point. David wanted no part of it.
And yet, he had to know.
He sucked in a breath. Clenched teeth. Squeezed the trigger. One after another, five d
eafening blasts. Point blank into the bastard’s chest.
Sam grinned.
CHAPTER TEN: REVERSE ENGINEERING
1
The whole vehicle seemed to fall off the edge of the Earth. Tires landed with a thud, testing springs and Eddie’s ability to sleep through earthquakes. The car’s suspension passed with bouncy, flying colors. Eddie just bounced.
Loose gravel assaulted fender wells, a surprise hailstorm that took a moment to process. She jolted upright and saw headlights washing over a road no longer paved. Hell, even Mesopotamia had paved roads. That was in 4000 BC, not that she was keeping score or anything.
She stretched and yawned. Her back ached from hours of awkward positions. It was still pretty dark, although the sun had begun to brighten the eastern horizon. Glowing green numbers on the radio read five o’clock.
She looked around to find everything exactly where she’d left it.
Rachel, driving.
The beast in the back, surprisingly quiet considering boulders now pummeled the undercarriage.
The portable DVD player, open and showing a dead screen.
“Where are we?”
“Deep in the wilds of Pennsylvania. Keep an eye out for crazed Amish people, would ya?” Rachel snickered, apparently loopy from sleep deprivation. She patted Eddie on the leg. “So how was the nap?”
“Short and unsatisfying.”
“Mine too. I’d still be asleep if that hitchhiker hadn’t smacked the windshield. What a jerk.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Oh I’m not just trying.” Definitely loopy.
“How much further?”
“We’re getting close. I turned off the highway about two miles back. This is Route 6.”
“Holy shit. We’re almost there.”
“Yeah. I was about to wake you up.”
Thick forest lining both sides of the dark road, gravel pounding from below, even the battered speed limit sign they’d passed - It all looked so familiar. She hadn’t seen this place in a dream, no. She’d been here. Sort of.
The turnoff would be to the right, after another fifteen miles. There wouldn’t be any street signs, nothing telling them where to turn, not that she needed them. The building would look as out of place as an alien spaceship, standing tall above the forest ceiling. Stratton and Sutherland, a plaque would read. Research Center.
David Sandoval, an old guy with hairy knuckles, waited for her inside. He needed her, now more than ever.
What is your purpose?
If she only knew.
The sisters sat in silence, riding, driving, thinking. They were close, so fucking close.
Blurred trees. Blurred road. Dirt and gravel. A person driving here had to imagine their own lanes, their own boundaries, to avoid oncoming traffic. Of course, there were no other cars at that time of morning, so Sis was free to take her half out of the middle. Hitchhikers rejoice.
Humor was Rachel’s defense mechanism, always had been, but with so few miles to go the jokes would be forgotten, overwhelmed by an ever-mounting anxiety. Was it too late to turn back?
Up ahead, a dark car blocked the road. It was parked sideways across both imaginary lanes. Standing at the driver’s side door, a man. A long gray overcoat covered all but his head, gloved hands, and lower legs. His intense stare did not waver, even for a second. His face seemed to be made of granite.
Rachel slowed to a stop as he walked to her window.
“Hi,” she said with a copious smile. Eddie had seen the expression used many times before, mostly to get out of speeding tickets.
“This road is closed. What’s your business out here?”
“We’re on a road trip. Been driving all night, if you can believe it. We heard there was a campground a few miles up. Do you know if we’re going the right way? I’m terrible with maps.” Rachel had always been a master of mixing lies into truth when it served her needs. Like a bullshit Jedi or something.
“There’s no campground. You’ll need to go back to town.”
“Oh. Do you mind my asking why the road is closed?”
He ducked lower to glare at Eddie, then Maurice. “Construction.”
Rachel grabbed the map and began unfolding it. “Okay. Do you know which way is east? I think we must’ve gotten turned around somewhere.”
He took a step back and pointed toward the sunrise. “East is that way. You need to move along.”
With his arm outstretched Eddie spotted a shoulder harness underneath the long coat. And if she wasn’t mistaken, a pistol.
“Thanks so much,” Rachel said, her smile quivering. “I’ll turn around now.”
The man walked back to his car. The turnoff was less than a mile away, the driveway to the laboratory.
Rachel turned the car around and started back toward the interstate.
“He had a gun,” Eddie said.
“I saw. Who the hell was that guy?”
“I don’t know.”
“The highway department doesn’t dress like that, Ed. And they don’t have pistols.”
“How are we gonna get there now?”
Rachel checked the rear-view mirror. “I was kinda hoping you’d tell me.”
2
Five shots, as fast as David could pull the trigger.
Susan, screaming.
Steve, with clenched fists, yelling something unintelligible.
Doug, backing away, catching his foot on the cot frame, stumbling.
Cathleen, staring in shock, then disbelief, every muscle in her body seizing at the blasts.
And Sam, smiling. Very nearly laughing at the wasted effort. “Yes,” he said. “That’s it, Dave. Let it all out. I’m impressed.”
David forced his hand to stop. The headache had come back even worse than last night, not that he noticed with the ringing in his ears and a murderous bastard in his face.
None of the bullets connected. Not one, and he was close enough to count the bloody streaks in Sam’s eyes, close enough to smell his fowl breath. Close enough to touch, although David suspected nothing could. Not anymore.
He’d been right. They were in a lot of trouble.
Sam brushed wrinkles away from his shirt, inspecting for bullet holes. There were none, of course. He locked vision with his invited guest, the one that should’ve pretended the phone call had never taken place. The one that should’ve sucked it up and faced retirement like a man.
“You see, Dave, it’s all about perception. Looking, and in turn, believing. I believe bullets can’t harm me, and so it is with the Gravitons. They’re part of me now. I speak, they listen.” Sam turned to grin at Cathleen. “Isn’t it astounding?”
“Liar,” Steve said. David looked over and saw him on a full run, racing to tackle the doctor. He arrived with fist drawn back and growling. A big roundhouse swing, full of rage, desperation. Futility.
The moment it would’ve struck, Steve was gone. To wherever rulers and hockey sticks go to cool their heels. To the place where Sam had been hiding since yesterday. Quick as a blink, although David hadn’t. He might never blink again.
“Just like the baseball,” Sam said. “Nothing can touch me. You’d do well to learn that quickly, folks.” He stepped aside and continued his explanation. “Because, unlike the baseball, I control when the test items come back.” He gazed out to the far side of the lab. Five missing bullets struck the wall, one after another, imbedding into pale brick.
David jumped at the sound, covered his mouth with trembling fingers. Christ.
Sam pointed to the ceiling, two stories above. “Oh. And I also control where they come back.”
Steve reappeared in midair, forty feet above the center of the floor.
A person might survive a fall of twenty feet. Maybe even thirty, depending on how and where they land.
But not forty. Not on concrete.
3
Eddie lurched in terror. Screamed.
Rachel locked up the brakes. The car skidded over loose dirt
, fishtailed to a halt. Maurice lost his mind, barking and clawing at the pillow.
The bad man, the gunshots.
Trouble couldn’t begin to describe what they were in, but that’s what he’d said. The old guy, David. The reason she’d come.
And another man, falling. Covering her eyes didn’t work. Neither did hitting them with the palms of her hands, not yet at least. She kept trying.
“Ed, calm down. Stop it. What’s wrong?”
An explosion over concrete. So much blood.
Hands grabbed at Eddie’s, holding her. Stopping her. “He’s dead, Rachel.”
“Who? David Sandoval?”
“No. The other one. He died. Sam killed him.”
“Who’s Sam?”
Eddie looked up, whispered. Tears streamed. “The doctor.”
4
Some more dramatic than others, yes.
Sam looked over the remaining group, evaluating his choices. He might need Cathleen for leverage later, so she was out. That left the big guy and the little blonde woman. It made no difference really, either would do fine.
Ladies first, he supposed. If nothing else, it would eliminate the annoying high-pitched screaming she was doing. But not at first. Oh no.
She’ll scream, no doubt about that.
Little did these people know, a fall to the concrete was just the beginning. Compared to what came next, that man was lucky. If this had been a lottery, he was the clear winner.
Sam said, “And now, on to the main event.”
David had joined his friends, clinging to them and offering comfort. An appropriate reaction to their situation. Almost sad, but Sam had evolved beyond such petty considerations. He had a job to do.
“Please, Sam,” David said. “Let us go. You don’t need us here.”
“Oh, but I do. I really do.”
“Whatever you’re planning, please. Don’t do it.”
Sam laughed. “Begging doesn’t suit you, Dave. You should leave that to your employees, yes? In the meantime, you can sit back and revel in the discovery. My new experiment won’t disappoint, I can promise you that.”